"And though," said he, smiling, "the squire is a warm politician in his own country, and would never see his sister again, I fear, if she married some convicted enemy of our happy constitution, yet for foreign politics he does not care a straw; so that if, as I suspect, your exile arises from some quarrel with your government,--which, being foreign, he takes for granted must be insupportable,--he would but consider you as he would a Saxon who fled from the iron hand of William the Conqueror, or a Lancastrian expelled by the Yorkists in our Wars of the Roses." The Italian smiled.

"Mr.Hazeldean shall be satisfied," said he, simply.
"I see, by the squire's newspaper, that an English gentleman who knew me in my own country has just arrived in London.

I will write to him for a testimonial, at least to my probity and character.

Probably he may be known to you by name,--nay, he must be, for he was a distinguished officer in the late war.

I allude to Lord L'Estrange." The parson started.
"You know Lord L'Estrange ?--profligate, bad man, I fear." "Profligate! bad!" exclaimed Riccabocca.